


More Than A Second Chance

by Not_a_Real_Writer



Category: Captain America
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 08:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11227557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_a_Real_Writer/pseuds/Not_a_Real_Writer
Summary: Before there is love, there is a first glance.There is a first meeting.There is a second chance.





	More Than A Second Chance

  
   In that one moment, he knows nothing but the swirl of colorful fabric around him. The strong fluorescent lights shining on the wooden dance floor.

 

   Everyone in the center of the crowd, himself included, sway to and fro to the rhythmic beating of the drummers hidden from immediate view.

 

   For just a second, Bucky distantly feels that something big was about to happen right here.

 

   Caught up in the rhythm again, he spins.

 

   Finds a partner.

 

   Separates.

 

   Then, there.

 

   A man.

 

  
~

 

  
   Toeing closed the apartment door, Steve creeps silently towards his bedroom.

 

  
   Lucky doesn't even come bounding over to him from wherever he was in the apartment.

  
  
   Less than 20 steps away.

 

   He could make it.

 

   Almost there.

 

   “Steve.”

 

   Sighing, he straightens up and pastes on a smile, putting down his bag of pastries. “Hey Clint, what's up?”

 

   “Oh, you know. Just relaxing cause it's my day off,” he says pointedly, gesturing to his own sprawled out form on the couch with Lucky on top of him.

 

   Tilting his head he continues, “You know I might be wrong, but I could have sworn that you were supposed to have the day off today too.”

 

   Steve coughs into his fist to fill the silence that was starting to fill the space between them. “I didn't have anything better to do?”

 

   Clint just stares him down, unimpressed. Or rather up, from his position.

 

   “Steve, it's been a month since you've painted anything.” He starts off matter-of-factly. “One week, I understand that maybe some things pop up that might be placed at a higher priority, sure. Two weeks same deal,” he pauses to gently usher Lucky to the side. He sits up to look at him more clearly, “Three weeks is kind of stretching it, but you can make reasonable excuses.”

 

   He gestures for Steve to sit beside him, and he's helpless to do anything but silently drift over and oblige.

 

   “Four weeks. Not a single sketch, none of your supplies out in preparation for use, or conversations about whatever new idea your brain spits at you ,” he leans back, and Steve notices that he's been ticking the weeks off his fingers. The last finger folds. “Five weeks. This my friend, is an intervention.”

 

   “Wouldn't there be more people?” he jokes weakly, at a loss for anything else to say at the moment. Yes he's been clocking in some extra hours at the bakery. Yes he's been letting his paint supplies collect dust. There wasn't really a way to argue. Yet.

 

   Clint waves toward the door, “Give ‘em a few minutes.” As if on cue, the front door swings open to make way for Peggy and Sam.

 

   Both breathing slightly heavier than normal, they trundle their way onto the second couch after they each scratch Lucky behind the ear for a few seconds.

 

   “Still just loving the fact that your building doesn't have a working elevator,” Shaking himself, Sam visibly moves on. They've had that specific conversation before, and it wasn't one they needed now.

 

   “Steve dear,” Peggy begins gently,“Clint told you why we're here, yes?”

 

   A single nod is her response, and suddenly it's like his body is back online.

 

   “I do have other things to do besides painting,” he says, crossing his arms, “I have a job, and chores, and…” he trails off.

 

   “Hanging out with your friends? Running? Sleeping?” Sam supplies.

 

   “Thank you.”

 

   Clint pipes up, “Steve, we wouldn't be on your case if you did do those things, and frankly you can't even say that you did one of the two things you mentioned.”

 

   Steve purses his lips and stays silent, glancing briefly at the miscellaneous piles of dishes,books,and other items strewn around the room.

 

   “You've been at work every available moment, and you’re frankly running yourself ragged.”

 

   “That's why we're here.” Sam says, gesturing to all of them. Lucky included.

 

~

 

   Sidestepping away from the other swirling dancers, Bucky searches for the swath of blonde hair connected to the man he'd seen.

 

   Maybe he'd say yes to joining him.

 

   Making his way over, he taps him on the shoulder to get his attention, “Would you like to dance with me?”

 

   He holds his breath, trying to slow his beating heart; watching as the man surveys the dancing beside them.

 

   “With you? I think- I think I'd like that.” he agrees finally.

 

   Gleefully, Bucky pulls him into the throng.

 

  
~

 

   
   Sliding the pamphlets across the cafe table, Nat takes a sip of her drink. Watching and waiting patiently for a reaction.

 

   His eyebrows knit together in silent confusion as he scans through the different papers. Pamphlets and various sign up sheets.

 

   Already filled out.

 

   With responding letters.

 

   “So you entered us in a “best fit” type of contest? For a carnival?” He asks, running his fingers through his hair.

 

   “Correct.” Another sip.

 

   “We won?” He says questioningly, indicating the information in front of him. “We have to dress like the Greek gods.”

 

   “Yes.”

 

   He sighs playfully, “You put my name down as James.”

 

   “That is your name, last I checked,” she says, raising her eyebrows in silent amusement.

 

   He pouts, “You know I don't like going by that name,” running his fingers over the glossy paper of the pamphlets, he asks, “What are these blank spaces for?”

 

   “There are other contests for local artists to enter, and the blank spaces are one of the prizes,” she waves her hand loosely in the air, “the second round of pamphlets will be released at the end of the carnival displaying the winning art...and also gift cards I believe?”

 

   He nods. “What do I have to wear?”

 

   She smirks playfully, “Well for starters, maybe a smile. You don't need to look so resigned, I haven't forced you to dress up for one of these before.”

 

   “You remember Hobokan right?” He replied, rolling his eyes, and half-heartedly taking a swipe for his drink. Or her drink now.

 

   Ignoring his remark and half-assed attempt to getting his drink back, she finally answers, ”It's good looking. A soft purple and pink tunic, a nice elaborate belt. I already know that you own a pair of boots that would go great with it.”

 

   “Who am I?”

 

She smiles, “Aphrodite.”

 

   He leans back, taking it all in. Nat knows what she signed them up for, and he does usually end up having fun at all these events that she always ends up managing to drag him off to. “When do we go?”

 

  
~

 

 

   Abruptly the song changes to something slower, and the blonde man gets jostled into his arms from behind. Blue eyes glance up apologetically into his own.

 

   “This alright with you? I know this ain't exactly what you signed up for,” he asks, simultaneously steadying and pulling him closer.

 

   Glancing up from his feet again, the man briefly makes eye contact then looks away, slightly tightening his hold around his neck.

 

   “I think I should be saying that to you, I ah, don't exactly partner dance on the regular. Two left feet and all,” he says, waving one of his hands noncommittally in the air.

 

  
~

 

  
   Then the handsome stranger links their hands together, and Steve hopes to God that he can't hear his beating heart.

 

   “I'd say you're doing just fine now.”

 

   A blush starts spreading across his cheeks. Maybe he could make it through the dance without making a fool of himself.

 

   Everything slows down.

 

   He looks down and notices too late that his feet weren't supposed to be there.

 

   In the next moment, he pitches forward again. Except this time, the man isn't steady enough to catch him and he falls backwards accidentally pulling Steve on top of him with an audible ‘oof’.

 

   Blinking dazed at each other, they stay silent.

 

   “Come here often?” he finally asks with a smirk.

 

   Freezing, Steve replies without thinking, “I plan to.”

 

   Wait, shit.

 

   Despite how dumb he thought it sounded, he notes with a lot of relief and a bit of satisfaction that he wasn't the only one blushing now.

 

   A familiar voice calls out from the crowd, “Get a room you two!”

 

   He was gonna kill Clint.

 

   Looking down he catches the stranger starting to look a little panicked.

 

   It was going to be a slow and painful death.

 

 

~

 

  
   Catching his breath, Bucky sees him looking upset at the comment. In the next second he scrambles up and off him, rushing into the crowd with a hurried apology. Startled, Bucky sits frozen in place until an elegant woman hauls him to his feet and shoves him in the direction the man went. This gets him going, rushing through the quickly closing path he'd made, Bucky just manages to catch sight of his bright white garment.

 

   Bucky had undeniably flirted with the cute stranger, and he'd flirted back. Although they'd only danced briefly, he had agreed to dance in the first place. Maybe he had a chance to get to know him better and see where they could go from there.

  
   Rushing forward he manages to brush one of his arms, causing him to whirl around. With an audible gasp, the man gapes up at him surprised. He probably hadn't expected to see him again after his quick exit. Mindful of the people around him, Bucky steps to the side so as to be less in the thick of it all. “I'm really sorry for pulling you down…” he trails off uncertainly.

 

“Steve,” the man supplies confused.

 

   Steve.

 

   “Hold up, you don't have to be sorry, I'm sorry for shoving you down,” he exclaims, flapping his hands in the air, as if he could shoo away the very idea of Bucky being responsible.

 

   “Well, regardless of whose fault it was,” he says, pointedly gesturing to himself, “ We both did end up falling over; lemme try to make it up to you?”

 

   Steve huffs ruefully, opting neither to agree or disagree any further on the subject. “What did you have in mind?” he asks curiously, relaxing at the idea of spending more time with this man.

 

   He smiles easily, “Let me buy you a wish?” A pause. “Or maybe a drink?” he adds, hopefully.

 

   Cocking his head to the side, he visibly pretends to think about it. And Bucky is prepared to lead the way, until he sees his eyes widen in very real horror. Gasping, he takes a step away from Bucky, towards whatever he sees.

 

   “Oh no!”

 

   And then he was gone.

 

   Turning this way and that, Bucky can't find his blonde hair or bright outfit. He'd lost him in the crowd again, maybe this time for good.

 

 

 

~

 

 

  
_“...minor concussion… ibuprofen for headaches...observation for an hour and then you'll be free to take him home.”_

 

   Nodding along, Steve finally waves goodbye to the retreating nurse. Turning around, he heads over to settle comfortably by Clint’s bedside.

 

   “Clint, what happened? I was talking to this cute guy having a grand ol’ time. Next thing I know, you're getting roundhouse kicked onto a pile of bodies by an angry woman.”

 

   Clint at first frozen and staring just to the left of him, starts at the mention of her.

 

   “Steeeeeve, oh Steve,” he moans out, rubbing his hands up and down his face, “She was an avenging angel,” he says. He rounds on him. “And those guys! They were- they were big …” he claws at the air for a moment, looking for the right word, “...jerks.” he nods in satisfaction, settling back against the stack of pillows behind him.

 

   Steve waits for more. “I'm gonna need a little more than that buddy,” he says gently.

 

   Clint nods sagely.

 

   “Steve, I saw an angel when Sam and I were waiting in line for pizza.” He grabs his shoulders, “We made eye contact.”

 

   “You and Sam?” he questions , laughing softly.

 

   “No Steve!” he cries, throwing his hands in the air.

 

   “The angel and I made eye contact while I was in line, because she was waiting for her food already,” pausing, he goes a little moony eyed as he continues, “she likes pizza.”

 

   “She sounds real great, Clint.”

 

   Eyes shining, he nods enthusiastically, “She gets better!” He exclaims. “Lucky was in line with us and some jerks stepped on his tail. He was fine, and it could've been an accident, but when I called ‘em out on it they scoffed.” He huffs, frustrated from the memory. “Then they insult him for wearing bright pink, and they did that on purpose.”

 

   Steve rubs his arm soothingly, “But you and I know you did that for a reason.”

 

   “Yeah, how else were people supposed to know that he was cupid? By putting him in bright green and purple? No. He had the little doggy bag with some arrows and a bright pink doggy tunic because that's his costume and he rocks it.” Quirking his head, he adds, “Also it makes it easier to spot him in a crowd.”

 

   “How did the “angel” get better?” he prompts, remembering the stack of bodies that Clint had briefly been a part of before Steve swooped in to help Sam drag him and Lucky away. He'd hit his head on something on the way down, and hadn't exactly been talking sense.

 

   If his eyes were shining before, they were sparkling headlights now, as he stage whispers behind his hand gleefully, “She defended Lucky’s honor.”

 

   A look of understanding passes over his face, “She started beating down the jerks?”

 

   Clint nods his head seriously.

 

   “She was defending us, those guys were advancing and she stepped in outta nowhere.” He goes quiet then.

 

   “What happened next?”

 

   His brows furrow, “It gets a little fuzzy from there, I think there was some argument that broke out in Russian first and then I, ah, came up behind her,” he purses his lips, “Not my best move, admittedly, but I don't regret it, Steve. I really don’t. I fell for an angel, literally,” he finishes dreamily.

  
  
   Leaning back, he quirks a brow and smirked, “So… a “cute guy”?”

 

   Laughing, Steve waves the idea away, “No, no, I was dancing with this guy, and yes, he was very cute,” he concedes, “ I, as usual, failed and ended up knocking the both of us over and-” he narrows his eyes, “some guy yelled for us to get a room”, he finishes carefully.

 

   “Do you have his number?” he asks expectantly, purposefully ignoring the silent accusation.

 

   He rolls his eyes in exasperation, and smiles a little distantly, “No, I didn't get his number, because after we fell, I apologized and left,” he winces, facepalming, “I didn't even try to help him up before running,” looking up, he waits for Clint to process what he's said.

 

   He frowns petulantly after a thoughtful moment, “But Peggy hauled him up and everything. He ran after you…” he trails off in speculation. “Maybe he was gonna ask you out later? You sure he didn't ask for anything?”

 

   Steve snorts, “Not a chance,’’ he says, addressing his first question. “He only offered to buy me a drink because he was being polite.” He finishes, purposefully leaving out the offer to buy a wish, silently wondering what he meant when he insisted on getting it for him.

 

   “But a drink?’’ he counters questioningly.

 

   “Peggy, a stranger to him, guilt tripping him to try and make up to the schmo that left, over a situation that wasn’t even his fault in the first place’’, he says firmly.

  
   “Steve, don't you worry your pretty little face about a thing from here on out, Sam, Clint, and Peggy have your back. You know why?” He says without pause.

 

   “Because you paid for every day of the carnival for all of us, and you want to get your money's worth?”

   

“Exactly,” he says with a happy wink.

 

 

  
~

 

 

  
   Bucky nestles further into the window seat, staring blankly at the book in front of him, opened to the first page.

 

   Across the living room, Nat heaves a sigh, draping herself dramatically over their couch.

 

   He doesn't look up.

 

   Standing up, she moves to lean against his seat from the floor, sighing more exaggeratedly, tapping his feet for good measure.

 

   He pretends to keep reading, calmly turning the page.

 

   Crawling under his arms and into his lap, she stares into his eyes. The minutes crawl by, and the moment drags on.

 

   Unblinking, she takes in a deep breath, and lets out a drawn out sigh.

 

   Faux casually, Bucky makes a point to mark the page he had flipped to, and sets it to the side. Finally focusing on the woman in his lap, he asks, ‘’Penny for your thoughts?”

 

   “How kind of you to notice that there was something on my mind,’’ she says dryly.

 

   He waits.

 

   “I probably sent the guy I was flirting with to the hospital,” she complains finally.

 

   “I dunno about flirting, Nat. You told me that all you guys did was stare at each other from your different stages of waiting for pizza,” he teases.

 

   She lightly smacks the side of his head, “Hush you, he had a dog.”

 

   “Oh, so you want him for his dog?” he makes a point to shake his head especially slow, “You know I wanted to buy that puppy that one time…”

 

   She pouts, “James, you know it wasn't the dog only.”

 

   This time, he replies with a soft smile, “It'll be alright, my little spider, you know why?”

 

   “Why?”

 

   “The power of love,” he states confidently.

 

   She snorts, “I don't think so. Someone is taking their role as the goddess of love alittle too seriously if you ask me. In any case, I'm not worried.”

 

   “Care to share why? You have been mooning over him for the past couple of days.”

 

   She shrugs easily, “He had an all event pass like we do around his neck. Chances are I'll be able to find him again. If not directly then through his dog,” at his confused expression, she continues, “Because he was wearing such a bright costume, I have no doubt that they won't be able to hide from me.”

 

   The thought makes her smile and then something in her eyes changes. Bucky braces himself for what he's about to hear.

 

   “So...mooning hmm?”

 

   “That is the word I used, yes.” he replied cautiously.

 

   “Do you remember what you told me, earlier this very morning, in your coffee deprived state?” She smirks, letting her question sink in as he visibly struggles to remember. “Let me help you out.” ,she takes a dramatic breath, “I'll set the scene with the reminder of a dark shadowy kitchen, it was so very early after all-”

 

   “It was five-” he interjects, amused and more than a little curious to see where this was leading.

 

   “And! You,” she pokes him in the chest, “Were staring into your freshly filled coffee mug, admiring the caffeinated drink, or so I thought. You were really looking at the mug itself, specifically the color. I would have missed what you had mumbled under your breath, had I not passed right behind you on the way to the fridge.”

 

   A silent minute passes, and her grin grows.

 

   “Do you not yet remember what you mumbled?”

 

   He shakes his head, waiting for her to finally spill.

 

   “You said, and I'm quoting, “This is my new favorite mug, ‘cause it's the same shade of blue as his eyes.”

 

   His mouth gapes like a fish, “I- I mean, you- ah,” he sighs wistfully. “I have a crush, sue me.”

 

   She pats his head and slides off of him, “Well, lover boy, tell me more about him and maybe I can help track him down for you.”

 

   He laughs openly at that, “Thanks Nat, but I think I'd like our paths to meet a little more naturally. I have a feeling that we’ll see each other again.”

 

   “Pfft.”

 

~

  
  
   Turning in his contest forms, Steve looks up and does a double take.

 

   That woman across the way has bright red hair, and her build looks similar…

 

   Squinting in thought, he purses his lips, “Alright Steven, nothing ventured nothing gained.”

 

   He walks forward with determination.

 

   “Did you roundhouse kick that one guy.’’ He cringes internally. Real smooth.

 

   She calmly turns to face him, “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that.”

 

   He blinks, laughing a bit in surprise, “Do you make a habit of it?”

 

   “Only to people I don't like, though it was an accident very recently”, she says, amused and curious to see what he wanted to talk about. There was something about him that seemed familiar.

 

   “That would be who I'm referring to.”

 

   She lifts a brow, “Oh? How come?”

 

   He shifts on his feet, ‘He's a friend of mine, and I'd be an idiot not to try to do this for him, ah-” he takes a breath, “Would you be willing to take his number?” he asks in a rush.

 

   Her eyes widen a bit in surprise, “ I- of course. You sure he wouldn't be too upset at you having given his number to the woman that sent him to the hospital?”

 

   He snorts, ripping a spare form from the small stack in his hands, “Miss, I can assure you, he will worship the very ground I walk on for at least a week when he finds out.”

 

   Scrawling out his number on the paper, he double checks it just in case and finally hands it over. “His name is Clint. He's a nice guy, but I'm biased because he's my friend so here are some other things to consider. He's a bit clumsy at times; like fall-down-a-flight-of-stairs-then-fall-out-a-second-story-window-that-was-closed kind of clumsy. He does remarkably well in making up for that however by being ambidextrous and able to shoot a bow and arrow at Olympic levels.”

 

   Natasha gestures to a nearby bench, and they both sit. “Go on?”

 

   “He's...ah-, well he procrastinates. He's incredibly neat, but our apartment could fool you into thinking otherwise. Laundry and dishes just pile up,” he snaps his fingers, “like that. He is however, highly efficient at cleaning so a mess that has been amassed after a month can be cleaned in an hour tops. He doesn't like to cook, but when he does it's pretty great. Better than take-away pizza everyday for over a couple weeks straight, which,” he makes a face, “I've unfortunately been roped a part of once. Once.” He emphasizes.

 

   “There's more, but I hope that if you were interested in him before, you might be more so now? At least in a more in depth manner than what I have to say off the top of my head in two minutes.”

 

   She smiles behind her hand, “I was, and am. Truth be told I didn't know for sure that he might like me back,” she chuckles, “Like. Sounds like I’m in middle school again.” She gets back on track, “We made some heavy eye-contact for a couple minutes and then I sent him to the hospital, so…” she trails off and shrugs.

 

   “Don't worry, you definitely made a good impression on him, and,” he shrugs, “you have his number now. Send him a text sometime? If you ever feel like it?”

 

   “I have no doubt that that is something I will have done before the end of the day.” She winks, and they share a laugh.

 

   With his ‘mission’ complete, Steve settles back on the bench. He closes his eyes, savoring the smells of the afternoon air. Smoky and sweet? Probably because of all the grilled meat and assorted desserts being sold, they were in the middle of the carnival’s section of vendors. A three note chime interrupts his musings.

 

   He glances over to see her shoot him a brief smile over her phone. He stands to take his leave, “It was nice talking with you, miss. Thanks for letting me take up your time in trying to set you up with my friend.”

 

   With that, he gives a small wave, and walks away. Mind drifting to some paintings that needed to be made; mulling over possible ideas. There was a lot of inspiration to draw from.

 

 

  
~

 

 

  
   Natasha smothers a grin behind her hand as she watches the man's retreating back. She never did ask his name. No matter, if he really was Clint’s friend, then she'd see him again. She glances down as James replies to what she'd just told him.

 

   There were many exclamation points and “I told you so’s”. She rolls her eyes and glances in the direction the man had gone. You would never catch her saying it aloud, but she was prepared to cut her losses in ever finding Clint.

 

   It was a big carnival. With a lot of people. She scrunches her eyebrows briefly, and quickly banishes the old gloomy thoughts. Steve had been an angel in delivering his number.

 

   Now if only James could have the same luck. He's been pretty blasé about his feelings, but it didn't mean she didn't worry. He'd get hurt, and she'd be powerless to help him.

 

   If it didn't work out, well. She'd set him up with this cutie. There was just something about him.

 

   She grins, putting the new number into her phone.

 

 

~

 

 

   Steve strides into Clint’s room, only to be met with a t-shirt to the face.

 

   He gingerly picks it off, looking up to see the man of the hour in a … suit?

 

   He purses his lips, eyeing his panicked demeanor, “Sooo, remind me where you're going again?”

 

   Clint looks down, looking even more worried, before stripping it off, “Antonio’s.”

 

   He rushes into his closet.

 

   Steve settles against the headboard, determined to at least try and act like the voice of reason. He lays down the facts, “So you're going out to get pizza, on your first date with her,” he starts off with, emphasising first. “ You don't have to dress to the nines, you know.”

 

   Clint wanders back into view, a different pair of pants pooled around his ankles. “I wanna leave her with a good impression of me,” he defends, “Antonio’s is good pizza. Great pizza. When we first met, we both didn't get to have our pizza, and she was all for it.” He sighs, “Good call on the suit though. Wouldn't want to scare her away by coming off too strong.”

  
  
   Steve snorts, turning it into a cough.

 

   “So what do you plan on wearing then?”

 

   That turns him on again, and he spins around, heading back into the closet. “I don't have anything to wear!”

 

   Steve looks around at the heaps of clothing, scattered in various piles around the room. “The mess in this place says otherwise.”

 

   He reappears again in yet a different suit.

 

   “Clint, where were these suits when we went to your jobs holiday gala?”

 

   He looks sheepish at that, but doesn't reply. Instead he dashes to the other side of the room to pick up his laptop. “I may not have anything to wear, but online shopping and credit cards exist so I'm fine.”

 

   Steve stares for few silent seconds as he watched him scroll through different websites. “I'm calling Peggy.”

 

   He doesn't look up, “Aw Steeb noo…” He focuses completely on the screen, and mumbles under his breath, “Do you think I'd look good in aqua marine?”

 

   
~

 

 

   Fifteen minutes later, and a sweaty, out of breath Sam stumbles through the door with Peggy trailing gracefully behind.

 

   Steve peers up questioningly at them from his spot on the bed.

 

   “Sam was ever the gentleman, and gave me a piggyback ride up the many, and frankly atrocious amount of stairs”, Peggy supplies.

 

   He shrugs, they all hated the stairs.

 

   She glances over at Clint just as he mumbles something about “deep royal”.  
“How long has he been like this?”

 

   Steve glances at his phone, “About an hour.” He looks up with a smile, “Figured you might be able to talk some sense into him.” He leans over and nabs the computer from Clint with minor resistance, “And also maybe provide a bit of moral support since he's nervous as hell.”

 

   Sam glares playfully at his word choice, but flops on the bed. “Can you work your magic, Pegs?”

 

   “Would I look good in burnt orange?”

 

   Peggy stares at him in horror, “Clint, no!” She strides into the closet, ignoring the scattered clothes on the ground. Stopping only for a second to look at the two different suits lying on the floor. “This is a first date, and you will not scare the poor girl away with your clothes.”

 

   Clint nods and sticks out his tongue at Steve, who had smiled smugly at him, eliciting a laugh.

 

   Sam stares up at the ceiling, and then closes his eyes, expression contemplative.  
“If you really wanted to look nice, why not just wear a button up?”

 

   “They're all wrinkly”, Clint says, watching as Peggy assesses, then dismisses different clothes.

 

   “What happened to the iron I bought you?” he asks, staring at Steve, expression carefully neutral.

 

   Steve looks to Clint, “Ask him.”

 

   “What happened to the iron I bought you?” he asks again, voice now aghast.

 

   “It didn't fall out that window if that's what you're thinking…” he answers, head indicating the window behind him.

 

   “There's always a story with things like this, especially when dealing with you two. What's the story this time?”

  
   “Turns out Steve and I didn't know how to actually iron when you gave it to us, so it collected dust for about two months. Then I tried to actually use it because,” he sits up straighter, imitating Sam, “Real men can iron their clothes.” He sits back, relaxing again and shrugs. “The dust caught fire, and then I freaked out enough to throw it out the window; where it landed on a passing truck of dirt, and was never seen again.”

 

   Peggy steps out of the closet, interrupting whatever Sam was going to say next. Thrusting the clothes she picked out into his hand, she says, “Try this on for size. Purple is most definitely your color, and the shirt is form-fitting enough that you can barely see the wrinkles, and show off your nice arms. The dark jeans are casual, but also dressy in a not,” she snaps her fingers, trying to phrase it right, “too laid back manner?” She rests her hands on her hips, a look of satisfaction coming over her face when he finally steps out again.

 

   He gives her a hug after (subtly) checking his reflection, “Thanks, Pegs.”

 

   She smiles warmly, “You'll do great dear. Just be yourself, and try to have a good time while you're out.” She looks at Sam's relaxed form, “I think it's time to be on our way,” she looks to Steve, “You have the night shift with Thor right?”

 

   He nods, standing and dusting himself off; while Sam groans in complaint, making Peggy laugh.

 

   “Come on, birdman; would you like me to carry you down?” she teases.

 

 

  
~

 

 

   Twenty minutes later finds Clint nervously waiting in front of the pizzeria. Natasha had insisted on meeting him here.

 

   He glances around furtively, then types out a quick message to Steve.

 

_You at work yet?_

   
**Is that code for help?**

  
_Can't I just wonder  
about you? (030)_

  
**It's gonna be fine (0-0)  
You did come 5 min early**

 

   He watches as the minute changes in the course of what seemed to be a thousand years. He took a calming breath, and watched the sky as the colors began to change. He smiles unconsciously, thinking about how Steve was the one to make him appreciate and notice just how many colors it made.

  
_Serious though, you  
at work?_

  
**Getting out the door now  
** Won't be there for another  
20 min.

 

 

  A pause.

 

 

**Good luck, u won't need it ;)**

 

  
   He looks up in relief when he hears his name get called out, expression turning curious when he sees a tall man walking with Natasha.

 

   She introduces them as soon as they get close enough, “Clint, this is my best friend James. James, this is Clint, my date.”

 

   He gives a friendly smile, “Sorry for barging in the beginning of it. I just didn't want her walking alone this time of night.”

 

   Nat snickers, “He wanted a to-go slice of pizza from this place, because he's never eaten here before.”

 

   Clint flashes a smile, opening the door for all of them, “Good to meet you, the pizza here? The greatest, in my opinion.” He gestures at the sturdy tables, and soft lighting. It's a good atmosphere too.” he hesitates, “They don't… do to-go though. Sorry.”

 

   Shrugging and taking in all the eclectic pictures on the wall, and delicious smells wafting from the back, he flashes a crooked smile, “Hope you crazy kids won't mind me sticking around.” He raises his hand in a boy scout salute, “I promise I won't hover over you guys, I'm here solely for the pizza.”

 

   With that, he makes a beeline for the line at the register to place his order.

 

   “You alright with him being here?” Nat asks, eyeing Clint.

 

   For his part, he merely shrugs and says, “I like his vibe. He likes pizza, I like pizza.”

 

   “Truly you two are a match made in heaven.”

 

   He leads her to the line, “Nah, I don’t think it could work out. You see, I may be part of the beginning of something good with this acquaintance of mine. I'm really hoping I hit it off with her.”

 

   She smiles, lacing their fingers together while they wait, “That's really a coincidence, because I think I may be in the same boat.”

 

 

~

 

 

 

   Steve lets out a happy sigh, dropping his satchel and coat off into the cabinet under the bakery counter.

 

   Today didn't look to be a busy day, considering that the weather report called for some pouring rain in the next hour.

 

   Fine by him, he could stay here for the rest of the night working on some ideas for one of the carnival art contests he had signed up for.

 

   Create something that conveys rose colored truth in this carnival based on your own experience.

 

   He scans the area, listening to Thor’s cheerful hustle and bustle in the back. There weren’t any customers. He pulls out his pad. Draw something that painted the carnival in a good light? He could do that.

 

   But first, some warm up sketches.

 

   Clint's smiling face materializes into view, highly enjoying a food of some sort.

 

   Next comes Peggy's laughing face as she stares at something unseen.

 

   And then came a familiar face. Steve quickly flips the page, blushing and thankful that no one was watching him. He was nice to remember, but Steve was a realist. He wasn't going to see the man he had danced with again.

 

   Biting his lip, he puts his pencil back to the paper, drawing another face. Sam this time, scrunching up his nose the way he had when Clint had helped Steve dye his white birds’ feathers red for a day.

 

   He slows down adding more details to the last warm up. Screw it, if he wanted to draw-

 

   He never got his name.

 

   He sighs.

 

   Double screw it, he wanted to draw him so he would.

 

 

  
~

 

 

 

   Clint crosses his arms in triumph as Natasha groans around her first bite of Antonio’s pizza. “Great pizza?”

 

   She nods, swallowing. “Great pizza. No room for argument whatsoever.”

 

   “Did I hear another happy customer?” an inquisitive voice asks over the intercom. Laughing a man steps out of the kitchen and towards their table.

 

   “That you did,” says Clint, waving hello.

 

   “Well, Miss, I'm glad I was able to please yo- Natasha!” He smirks knowingly, “I told you I'd get my food in you somehow.”

 

   She takes another big bite, eyeing her food in betrayal.

 

   “You know each other?” Clint asks, puzzled.

 

   “Of course. I've known Natasha for about as long as I've known you, so,” he rubs his chin in thought, “Almost three years?”

 

   “I feel like this is big news.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “Do you know James?”

 

   “Who? You mean dark knight in the corner over there,” he says, jutting his chin in his direction, “Yes.”

 

   He turns to Natasha, “Next thing you’re gonna tell me is that you’ve known Thor all along too.”

   

   Nat wipes her mouth. “The baker? We go bowling monthly.”

 

 

~

 

 

   Thor's voice booms from the back, “Steven, do you want me to pick up some of Antonio’s pizza?” The man himself steps up next to him, peering over Steve’s shoulder at some of the visible drawings as he rips another finished picture from his book, adding it to the growing pile.

 

   This one was of Clint and Natasha, they were each holding a slice of pizza, clinking them together as if they were fine cups of wine.

 

   “You know I'm always up for a slice of Tony's pizza,” he shuffles some papers, and without looking up adds, “-and that it's okay to call him by his real name.”

 

   Thor chuckles at the old argument, “Where would the jest in that be? I find it amusing that his name has already been copyrighted.”

 

   “He let's you take out his pizza to-go, and what do you do to his good not-name?”

 

   “Refuse to use it,” he replies with a broad grin. Tieing up his hair, he grabs his coat and heads toward the door. “Meat lovers?”

 

   “Always.” And then Steve was well and truly alone with his thoughts for the time being, imagining what a rose colored world would actually look like. As much as prompts were made to inspire, it was hard sometimes to actually get a good idea going. Oh well. He did have time.

 

 

~

 

 

   Clint waves his hands about emphatically, “I just find it strange that no one but me thinks that it's weird that we have a lot of mutual friends and have somehow never met before now.”

 

   Natasha delicately stirs her straw around her water. “Well we know each other now,” she says amused, before she stops, tensing subtly as she eyes the door. “Incoming.”

 

   Looking at one of the oddly placed decorative mirrors, Clint sees a large group of people piling into the restaurant, trying to escape the rain that had started coming down in sheets. A very large group, looking as if they were going out of their way to being particularly rowdy and disruptive.

 

   They make eye contact across the table, both of their faces carefully neutral.

 

   The day that they’d met might have been a bit of a blur in Clint’s mind due to the slight concussion, but he wasn’t likely to forget the faces of those jerks anytime soon.

 

   Clint knocks lightly on the table. “Tony's recently upgraded this place,” he starts, watching as Nat’s attention returns to him. He wasn’t gonna let this date turn sour.

 

   “Upgraded.” She examines the surface a little closer and shrugs. “I don’t follow.”

  
  
   “Just a little fun fact about the place. All the tables are bulletproof. You know why he has all these pictures hanging along the walls?”

 

   “To hide all the bullet holes left from the previous owners.” She smirks, “He told me that there’s a guy he knows who is convinced that this place is haunted.”

 

   He grins, raising his hand in response. “Guilty. Come on, there were seven recorded shootouts. You can’t possibly convince me that there isn’t at least one single ghost.”

 

 

~

 

 

  
   Steve sighs, looking up from the page meant for his actual entry ideas.

 

   Regardless of if there were actually any customers or not, this place needed cleaning up.

 

   He straightens up and grabs a rag, beginning to rub down all the tables and chairs.

 

 

~

 

 

   They share a brief lull in conversation, enjoying each others company.

 

   “You know your friend, James? He looks really familiar to me, but I can’t quite place him.”

 

   “Have you seen him at the carnival? He was one of the winners for the role of one of the

gods.” She supplies.

 

   He snaps his fingers, “That must be it. I know I’d seen him there, but how is kind of shaky.”

 

   “Speaking of friends that we have. I've got a question?"

 

   “Shoot.”

 

   “Is your friend Steve single, and if so, willing to meet tall, long haired brunettes?”

 

 

  
~

 

 

 

   Now that he thinks about it, the smudgy windows could use a good cleaning on the inside as well. The rain would clean the outside naturally. Steve was on a roll, already having wiped the tables and washed all of the dirty dishes. Knowing that this burst of productivity wouldn't last, he rushes to complete the next task.

 

 

~

 

 

  
   Catching on to her implications, Clint shrugs. “Knowing Steve, I think he’d be willing to at least talk to James. Why?”

 

   She smiles fondly in the direction of where he was sitting. “Steve set you and I up,” she says, gesturing between them, “I want to try and return the favor. Plus I think James would like him.”

  
  
   “Is your friend okay with us trying to set him up?”

 

   “Is yours?”

 

   “Touché.”

 

 

~

 

 

 

   Steve knew he was procrastinating. He'd washed and dusted every available surface in sight until everything was shining, put all of the recently cleaned dishes away. He wonders briefly how long it would take to clutter up every available surface again. He laughs quietly to himself, thinking that it would only take one rush hour tops.

 

   Humming in contemplation, he frowns at the blatant silence of the place. Deciding to finally sit down again, he pulls out his phone and opens pandora, taking a quick glance at his sketchbook.

 

 

  
~

 

 

  
   Plates empty, Natasha and Clint chatter, filling the silence of the restaurant as each minute passes and customers begin to file out. They split the bill, planning to meet again on the last carnival day, and part ways at the door, Natasha somehow having convinced Clint to be the one to give Steve James’ number.

 

   Clint ambles home, Nat and James begin their walk to do the same.

 

  
~

 

 _Maybe it’s intuition_  
But some things you just don’t question  
Like in your eyes, I see my future in an instant

 

   Steve hums along to the sappy love song, closing his eyes.

 

 _And there it goes,_  
I think I found my best friend  
I know that it might sound  
More than a little crazy  
But I believe

_I knew I loved you before I met you_

 

 

  
~

 

 

   “You’re thinking about something.”

 

   James shrugs in reply to Natasha’s statement. “Wanna guess what about?”

 

   She smiles lightly, leaning on him slightly, “Your undying love over my happiness?”

 

   “Or Thor’s pastries…”

 

   She smacks him on the arm, “You wanna stop by? See if he's in?”

 

   “God yes. Tony came by my table and wouldn't stop talking about them for some reason.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

  
_But I believe_  
I knew I loved you before I met you  
I think I dreamed you into life  
I knew I loved you before-

 

   A chime interrupts the last of the song playing, and honestly Steve was relieved. It had been playing on repeat for the past two hours.

 

   He grabs his phone off the shelf from his spot on the floor. It was a text from Clint.

 

_Before you ask, it  
went great_

 

   He grins down at his phone, shoving some of the stuff he'd set on the floor to the side so that he could sit. Before he has the chance to reply, another message pops up.

 

 _Also...how do you_  
feel about your  
best friend lovingly  
trying to set you up  
with a stranger.

 

   He blinks down at the screen confused, finally deciding to just call him when he sees the typing bubble.

 

   “You what?”

 

   “ _Hey Clint, how do you think your date went?_ Actually I think it went pretty well-”

 

   Steve smacks his forehead, groaning out, “Clint, don't avoid the choices you've made by imitating my voice.” He rubs his face, making his way to the pantry door to close. Just in case they needed the extra privacy.

 

   “He seems nice?” Comes the hesitant reply.

 

   He raises an eyebrow.

 

   “Don't do that.” Clint whines.

 

   “What?”

 

   “The eyebrow thing. You know. That face you make when you’re one part skeptical, one part disappointed. I can hear it over the line.”

 

   He leans against the shelves, face unchanged. “I have no idea what you're talking about.” Lie. Oh he knew. They've been friends since high school; Steve has had a long time to perfect that look.

 

   Hope creeps into his voice, “I also know that there's a hint of patience and willingness to listen to whatever crazy plan I've come up with?”

 

   “Crazy? Not helping your case, buddy.” He smiled, letting his tone turn teasing. “Here I was just minding my own business, cleaning the pantry, when suddenly a very close and most trusted friend drops a bomb on me.” Pause for dramatic effect. “Over text too.” He laughs, practically hearing his pout over the line.

 

   “You set Nat and I up.’’ He reminds happily , “She wants to see if you and her friend, James, might hit it off, you know? She’s under the impression that you two might fit together, and i’d only met him for a couple minutes, but i’m inclined to agree.”

 

   “So. How are you setting us up?”

 

   A few minutes after hanging up, Steve gets sent a number.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

   “James, you don’t need to stare so mopily at the door. We can come back.” Nat says, linking their arms together to walk away.

 

   He walks with her, albeit still staring resolutely through the glass of the obviously closed bakery. “There’s a light on in the back.” He finally says, looking hopefully down at her.

 

   “No, James, it wasn’t meant to be tonight. You can wait, and I promise it will be worth it in the end.’’

 

 

  
~

 

 

 

  
   “I can’t believe you didn’t bring any leftover pizza.” James complains, closing the fridge door.

 

   Nat doesn’t look up, snorting as she flips the channel on the tv. “Me? You were at the restaurant too; why didn’t you get any leftovers? And,” she continues, finally shutting the tv off, “It's been three days. Frankly if there was anything left to eat, I'd be surprised. Not that it would be particularly healthy to eat after the third day”, she muses.

 

   He wanders closer, sitting on the couch as well.

 

   “We need to talk.”

 

   His eyebrows jump, but otherwise, he tilts his head, waiting.

 

   “Have you gotten any texts from an unknown number lately?”

 

   He sighs. “You set me up?”

 

   “I'll take that as a no.”

 

   He draws out her name, “Naaat, you said that you'd only ever try setting me up in person if you were going to continue doing that.”

 

   She raises her hands in defense, “I haven't broken the deal, Clint and I planned it out. He gave his friend your number, and if he's interested, he's going to text you to ask if you want to meet at the last day of the carnival. No more, no less. And it's up to both of you, if he doesn't or you don't, we move on.”

 

   “The last day, as in tomorrow.”

 

   “Yes.”

 

   His phone pings, drawing both of their attentions.

 

   She rises off the couch and meanders her way to the kitchen, a smirk on her lips.

 

   Fishing it out of his pockets, he reads the screen to find that an unknown number had sent a single text.

 

 **So… My friend Clint  
** and your friend Natasha  
Are trying to get us together  
I don't know about you, but I'd  
like to meet up if that's okay?

 

 

~

 

 

  
   Steve groans into the couch, tossing his phone on the cushion in front of him. “Finished. Done. Can't take it back now, even if I wanted to.”

 

   Clint walks over with a fresh bowl of popcorn, ruffling his hair in passing as he settles on the floor in front of the couch, Lucky bounding over to sit next to him in hopes of getting a treat.

 

   Without lifting his head, Steve grabs a small handful and feeds it to him.

 

   “Was that so hard?”

 

   “Yes.”

 

   “Come on, Steve,” he grins over his shoulder, “Tell me all of the very worst things that could happen.”

 

   “We could hate each other on sight. It could be awkward because we don't know each other. He could be an ax murderer-”

 

   “He's Nats friend.” Clint interjects.

 

   Steve sits up, shrugging. “Either it's something she's willing to overlook, or I'm his first.

 

   “I'm not disagreeing with you on your excellent and,” he coughs into his hand, “out there predictions, but I don't think that's going to happen. This came to me last night, but James looked familiar to me and I remember why. I, and this is just my opinion, believe that you are going to have a wonderful time on this “blind date” thing, and at the very least might gain a new friend.” He wiggles his eyebrows, “At the very most on the other hand-”

 

   Steve’s phone chimes, interrupting the rest of his sentence.

 

   A two lines of text pops up.

  
**_I'd love to  
The name’s Bucky btw_ **

 

 

 

  
~

 

 

 

   “Clint. I'm having second thoughts.”

 

   He shoots him an incredulous look, “We’re literally just around the corner to the rendezvous point. Just breathe, Steve, relax, eat some good food, and be yourself.” He pats him comfortingly on the back.

 

   “You said it yourself that this is a “blind date”. What if he hates me?”

 

   “Didn't you already say that yesterday?”

 

   “What I didn't add was, what if he hates me and makes Natasha hate me? I like Nat. What if by hating me, she'll end up hating you, hmm?”

 

   Instead of answering, Clint gives him a reassuring smile, before turning him towards Natasha. Or rather, the man next to her.

 

 

~

 

 

 

  
   James turned towards whoever Nat was looking at, blinking twice in surprise.

“Steve?”

 

  
~

 

 

  
   “Bucky?”

 

 

  
~

 

 

   Clint scratches his head, “Who the hell is “Bucky”?”

 

   His voice breaks their staring and Natasha playfully ruffles James’- Bucky's hair, “I suppose we both forgot to mention that he has a nickname.” Nudging Bucky a step closer, she does the same for Steve. “Have fun boys,” waving over her shoulder, she links arms with Clint and they disappear into the thickening crowd of carnival goers.

 

   
~

 

 

   They walk through the vendors in companionable silence, Bucky finally gesturing to a cart. “Can I interest you in a wish?”

 

   Looking at the small menu, Steve sees that it was a smoothie. There's that small mystery solved.

 

   He nods happily.

 

 

  
~

 

 

 

   This couldn’t be real, Steve thinks distantly as he walks . Bucky and him were on a date. A date. Having fun and getting to know each other.

 

   
_“You did what!”, Bucky laughed out, almost spitting out the last of his drink._

 

_Steve raised his hands in defense, laughing along as he finished his story, “It was coney island, what else was I supposed to do?”_

 

_Bucky shakes his head, still chuckling slightly. “Not that,” he takes a breath, “How many pigeons?”_

 

_“Twenty-four.”_

 

  
   

   They’d been walking between stalls of games, and though no one said anything, they were both trying to impress the other. And succeeding.

 

  
   “ _All I have to do is knock all the bottles over?” Steve says curiously, slowing down._

 

_Bucky stared at the booths sign. “Three stacked bottle towers. You have an infinite amount of throws, but it’s better if you use less.” He raises an eyebrow, “You up for the challenge?”_

 

_He smirks back, making a show of paying the guy running the game, earning a smile and a wink._

 

_Settling down, he gets ready to take the shot. Without hesitation he hurls it at the stack on the far left. In the next moment, they_

 

_had_

 

_all_

 

_fallen_

 

_down._

 

_Turning around after claiming his prize (A giant decorative frisbee that looked like it had been thrown up on by the american flag. He loved it.) he sees Bucky’s shocked expression._

 

_“H-how?”_

 

_They go walking again, after Steve rents a locker to put the shield in. He refused to call it a frisbee, considering the size of it; and doubly refused to lug the thing around the rest of their date no matter how nice it was._

_To answer his question, he merely shrugs. “I played ultimate frisbee in high school.”_

 

_“That does not explain how you managed to break physics.”_

 

 

~

 

  
   “ _STEP RIGHT UP!!!! STEP RIGHT UP!!!! IT DOESN’T COST ANYTHING TO WIN!! YOU ARE FREE TO IMPRESS ANY IF YOU DARE TO TRY!!!!! YOU SIR!!”_

 

_Bucky whips his head to the side and , yes, the announcer had been calling to him. They walk closer to discover that the man had been advertising a “test your strength” game._

 

_“What do you say good sir, do you have somebody you want to impress?” He looked down at their intertwined hands and gave a dramatic wink. “All you have to do is hit the target with this hammer as hard as you can, to hopefully launch the puck into the bell._

 

_Steve looks up and smirks at Bucky, before letting go of his hand and crossing his arms in challenge. “Think you can impress me?”_

 

_He playfully slicks his hair back, stepping up to the plate, turning back to give a genuine smile. “I’ll sure try.”_

 

_He grips the hammer, swinging it into a wide arc above his head, before bringing it crashing down._

 

_The puck shot into the bell, leaving a faint ringing in the air._

 

_A small crowd had gathered in the midst of the announcers instructions, and after the bell had been struck, many stepped forward to also prove their worth._

 

_Bucky and Steve step away after the man thanks them for participating._

 

_“Did it work?”_

 

_Steve pretended to think. Shrugging he says, “I’ve seen better.” He shouts out a laugh as Bucky picks him up, spinning them both around._

 

 

~

 

 

   They walk out from the shadow of a big tent, and come face to face with the base of the ferris wheel. The sun was slowly going down, and it only takes them looking at each other to start racing, hand in hand, to the end of the line.

 

 

  
~

 

  
   Natasha leans against Clint after they step out from behind the big tent. “I believe that that is enough spying for the day; don’t you think?” She tilts her head up to look up at him, then turns so that they were both watching the running figures of their best friends.

 

   “Yeah. They’ll be fine.” He sighs wistfully, “Ahh, young love.”

 

   “I’m pretty sure they’re both older than us.”

 

   “Touché.”

 

 

  
~

 

 

 

   They both strapped into the precarious seat, and then Steve suddenly found himself nestled against Bucky's side, with one of his arms wrapped lightly around his shoulders.

 

  
   He didn’t mind.

 

  
   The giant glowing wheel began to turn, and then they were being lifted off the ground, on their own.

  
   

   The stars were coming out and, undoubtedly, the date was coming to an end soon. Just not yet.

 

   After they reach the top, Bucky is the first to break the silence, pointing to the distant dance floor he asks, “Before we leave would you like to share one more dance?”

 

   He gazes out to the place where he’d first met the man beside him, finally saying, “Yes.” It wasn’t a hard decision to make.

 

   He ducks his head after a bit, asking his own question. “Would you mind coming with me to the showcasing of the art contest winners? I entered a piece and it made it in.”

 

   Bucky gasps in happiness, squeezing him lightly. “I’d love to see; congratulations.”

 

   “Thank you.”

 

 

 

~

 

 

  
   Standing at the entrance of the gallery, Bucky turns to Steve. “How do you wanna do this?”

 

   It had been set up like a maze, to add to the whimsical setting of the carnival. Luckily for them, there were maps being handed out at the entrance.

 

   Map in hand, Steve links their hands together, and he wonders at how it only took one date to make it seem like the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll lead the way? It’s gonna close soon, and I still owe you a dance.”

 

   He gives a gentle squeeze, “Sounds like a plan.”

 

 

  
~

 

 

  
   They wind their way through the twists and turns of the tall walls, occasionally stopping to admire a particular piece. Before he knew it, Steve had gently pulled Bucky to a stop in front of another piece.

 

   Maybe Bucky didn’t know much about art, but what he did know, was that the painting in front of him had briefly taken his breath away. It looked simple and elegant, made up of three pairs of people and a carnival silhouetted over a backdrop of exploding fireworks.

 

   He lifts a finger, pointing out the pair on the left. “Is this Natasha? And Clint?” He smiles, eyeing the small form of a dog right next to them. “This must be Lucky.”

 

   “Yeah.” He looks to the pair on the right, “This is Peggy and Sam. Good friends of Clint and I.”

 

   They both turn their focus to the pair in the middle.

 

   Steve runs a hand through his hair. “And these two are,” he coughs lightly, “youandme.” Coughing again he drags Bucky towards the exit, casting a glance at the other’s expression.

 

   A smile spread it's way over his face. “You painted us together?”

 

   They step outside.

 

   And would you look at that, the dance floor is less than 30 feet away.

 

   “That's really …” he searches for the right word.

 

   “Weird?” Steve supplies.

 

   “Psh, no. I think that it was sweet. Wasn't there a prompt that you had to go off of?”

 

   His brow furrows momentarily, “How’d you know?”

 

   “It was printed next to your piece.”

 

   “Right. Well, you're correct, there was a prompt. It was based off of “a rose colored reality”. You know? Something better, something seen in a good light.”

 

   He looks to Bucky who nods in encouragement for him to continue. “Nat and Clint? I was happy for them. They were something good to paint. Sam and Pegs? Not together but really amazing friends of mine and each other. You and me?” He gestures between them. “Well, I don't know why you chose me to dance with that first time, but I accepted and I really love where it's lead.”

 

   “So do I.”

 

   He glances to the floor of dancing couples, then back again. “Shall we?”

 

   Steve smiles fondly, leading the way once more. “Ready when you are.”

 

  
~

 

 

   The tune they dance to is wordless and hypnotic. They are able to dance slow once again.

 

   Bucky looks into his eyes. “Hey Steve? I agree. I-I think you and I are a good thing. And I'm really glad for this second chance that we got.”

 

   He smiles brightly back, saying, “I dunno, Buck. This feels like more than a second chance.” He smiles even wider as fireworks shoot across the sky, signaling the end of Carnival.

 

  They share a knowing look, smiling mischievously.

   

   This wasn't the end, not for them.

   

   It was only the beginning.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for making it this far. :D  
> The art this was based off of is:  
> https://m.imgur.com/Nzu1G3W
> 
> The lovely artists tumblr is:  
> magical-mistral  
> My tumblr is: imnotamermaidimanangel


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